


Bow and Ashes

by Chairman



Category: Bastion
Genre: Cael-Ura war, F/F, Other, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-18
Updated: 2012-09-29
Packaged: 2017-11-12 09:17:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/489248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chairman/pseuds/Chairman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during the Cael-Ura war, the Breakers' job is to carry messages from the cities to the Cael troops in the<br/>Wilds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Concerning Breakers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a speculative work into the roles of different classes in Caelondia during the Cael-Ura War. Inasmuch, this is not canon and is what I personally perceive to have happened. Oh, and I also didn't create Bastion, nor am I profitting from this in any way. I do, however, own the game.

There ain’t much of a life expectancy for Breakers.

Sure, they’re boasted as the swiftest in the land, venturing to the Wilds come rain or shine for whatever message the Mancers wish to deliver. And maybe back in the good old days before we became stuck in this Mother-forsaken war, being a Breaker meant something more than getting slaughtered by the Ura after your second mission. That’s what Bynn the archery instructor claims, but he’s seen so much conflict there’s some doubt how well he remembers things. But he’s survived this long; it must’ve taken some skill, right?

In his time, the Ura probably haven’t discovered pistols and repeaters yet. In his time, a bow was as strong as a sword, and could probably lay six or seven of them flat before the remaining ones batted an eye. But that was then.

This is now, and sometimes it seems old-fashioned to give a bright-eyed youth a bow and tell her it’ll be all right, that firing a shot straight and true will save her from being riddled with bullets or stabbed to death by pincushions. 

And then some miraculously survive to keep the profession alive. Take Gail for example. Five times out into the Wilds and she’s still kicking, out of sheer luck or what you’d call some skill. Never seen a dancing shot like hers bounce off of four gourds during target practice. It gets easier when you’ve survived more than three missions, though. By then, you waive off the more dangerous assignments to the newer recruits, sit around drinking bourbon and daring each other to try the Breaker’s Volley. No one but Bynn has ever managed to pull it off perfectly, not that it deters younger Breakers from trying. 

“Mancers orders,” Bynn shouts as he walks into the Barracks, haphazardly removing the seal from the letter. “They have multiple messages that need delivery to the frontlines.” Groans erupt from the hall.

“Again?”

“We just did that two days ago!”

“Just ask some Slingers, they go out into that mess all the time. Why do we have to risk our hide our there?”

Bynn grunts impatiently and slams a calloused hand down on the desk. “You will do it because you are Breakers. There’s an honor behind your line of work that I don’t think you kids understand. So are you going to lay around drinking, or are you going to uphold the vows you took when you first decided to take up the bow?”

The Breakers assembled nod quietly. 

“How many?” one of them asks.

“All of you. The Mancers are getting pretty worried about the Ura; they think there’s going to be an attack soon. So we need all of you to warn the Brushers and Triggers encamped out there to attack them before they attack us. Tell them to advance towards the Terminals. Understand?”

“Yes sir,” they reply, setting out for their uniforms and their bows.

“I should have signed up for the Wall,” Lerie mutters, rubbing her freckled cheek. This would be her third mission; she’s outlived the standard Breaker life expectancy, but every venture out into the Wilds is a new threat. It doesn’t care whether you’ve been out there ten times or once; either way it will do its best to kill you.

“I’ve heard being on the Wall is much worse than being a Breaker,” Gail says. “The Wall wears people down.”

“At least they don’t ask you to risk your neck just to utter a sentence.”

“And there’s the honor of being a Breaker, of course.”

“Some honor it’s turned out to be.”

“The greatest honor possible,” Gail deepens her voice to mimic Bynn. “There’s tradition in the bows you hold, and you must live up to the Breakers’ name.”

“This is just a step,” Lerie continues. “A single mission may turn the tide of this war.” They look at each other and suppress laughs.

Suddenly, Gail’s face becomes grim. “I wish this damned war would be over.”

Lerie smiles and pats her on the shoulder. “It wouldn’t matter to you anyways, being halfway done with your service and all.”

“Yeah,” Gail laughs. “And imagine how great it’ll be when I’m shot down on this run.”

“Hey,” Lerie’s face turns serious for a moment. “You’ve pulled me through the Wilds twice. You have a better chance than any of returning.”

“Maybe.” Gail fixes the mandatory hat onto her head with a few pins and shifts her head to make sure it stays. Not following uniform is a direct violation, punishable by a trial in the Courts. “You’ll be fine without me this time?”

“Hey, you’ve helped me through the Wilds, but you didn’t have to carry me through them. I’ll be fine.”

“See you at the Range?”

“Three days’ time lest the Gravers get me.”

They put on their arm guards in silence. Soon they’ll be set out into the Wilds in threes, so that a bow would be drawn at all times, and so the message will be told by at least one pair of lips. In their uniforms red as a bleeding dawn, there’s not a grander sight—nor an easier target. The hope is that the recipient of the message sees the Breaker before any enemies do, but for those inexperienced, they don’t stand a chance.

They say Breakers wear red because all too often, the uniforms become stained with blood.

Gail gets paired with two newcomers, first and second time venturing away from the safety of the Walls. Not the best of luck, but she’s worked with novices before. Lost most of them, though, but the bad luck ain’t all her fault. You have to sign up for some kind of service or other, and the Breakers seem to have it easy, prestige and easy living up in the Barracks, despite the name. Life is good, up until you realize you’re out in the middle of nowhere, with everything trying to get a piece of you and only a bow to keep them at bay. Then, ten runs out to the Wilds seem an eternity.

“We’re going to die out there, aren’t we?” Hurus, the newcomer, grips his bow and fastens an arrow.

“No, you’re not,” Gail pats his shoulder, which is already trembling even though they are still in the safety of the barracks. “Now put your bow down, there’s nothing to shoot yet.”

“But the odds—”

“Are we’ll get the message through to the Triggers at the River, and come back here before three days are over.”

“You make it sound easy,” Eisl says. “The real chances are we all die horribly.” The statement just makes Hurus shake more.

“We are coming back. You survived once, Eisl, there’s always the chance you’ll survive again,” Gail says. She removes one of her gloves and unchains a bracelet. “I swear by Acobi you’ll come back, Hurus.” She puts the bracelet on his wrist. “The Chastened Maiden hold me to it.”

“But the Cauldron,” Eisl grumbles. “Who lives in that hellhole?”

“Cinders. The war needs fire.”

“So well give it to them?” Hurus asks.

“Right.”

Hurus manages a weak smile as the skyway sends them to the Colford Cauldron, to alert the remaining Cinders up there that it’s time to move on forward, time to scorch the earth and turn the tide against the Uras.

Well, I wouldn’t be telling this story if things turned out as planned.


	2. Colford Cauldron

Landing after a trip through the skyways is always a tricky task. Most of the time you just fall flat on your face.

Whatever grace Gail carries herself with when she’s got her feet planted on the ground, it don’t prevent her from landing the same way as her less experienced teammates. Well, nobody’s a natural at falling from the sky.

She gets up anyways and helps Hurus and Eisl get on their feet. The hot, soot-filled air assaults their lungs and they spend a good amount of time just coughing, as if that’ll stop their lungs from filling up with ashes. But in time they get going; they have people to see, words to speak, and a healthy fear of the Mender’s Court to move them along.

“I can’t believe people live here,” Hurus says.

“Cinders are crazy,” Eisl says, kicking a rock just to have it fly and bounce off the ground with hollow thuds. “You know the war’s getting desperate when we have to call upon these freaks.”

“What do they do up here?”

Eisl shrugs. “Who knows? Play with fire? Mess with Peckers? Sit around and—“

“If you’re going to chat, walk faster,” Gail, who has marched forward significantly since they started, calls back to them. “Unless you want to spend the night out here.”

They walk on, bows drawn, though only a few Peckers come down and bother them. “I thought the Wilds would be more difficult,” Eisl says. “Last time I couldn’t take two steps without something flying at me.”

“I think most things are trying to keep themselves away from the fire first.” This seeming tranquility puts Gail on edge, however, as someone has to clear out the Wilds. “Though I usually see more Wallflowers around.”

“Maybe the Cinders are actually doing their job,” Hurus adds hopefully.

“Those are Trappers, Hurus,” Eisl rolls her eyes. “The Cinder’s don’t give a damn what’s outside their doorstep. You hear that the Incinerator’s infested with Peckers because everyone’s too busy fucking around with fire to care.”

“Eisl.”

“What?” She brings her hands up defensively. “I’m just being honest.”

“Must I remind you that we’re delivering a message?” Gail says. “And that requires, before other things, making sure the receiver will listen to us and, then and only then if Olak ever ages, follow the orders.”

“Never knew you to be one of them honor-seekers,” Eisl mutters.

“Oh, I’m not. But the Cinders also might not put us up for the night, and trust me, whatever danger the Wilds looks like now, you bet your ass it gets worse at night.” 

They walk on the path, trying to be swift without losing their footing. Occasionally they hear the screams of a Lungblossom or the telltale sound of pincushions unleashing their thousand stings on some unlucky victim. Gail advises them to evade whenever possible, lest they lose precious arrows. Once in a while they fire upon bunches of Wallflowers blocking the path; otherwise, the trek to the Cinder forges is one of the Wild’s sounds reminding them of constant danger, but of little action.

On the Cinders’ doorsteps, a new sound emerges out of the cacophony of the Wilds. A sneaking sound, one that creeps around your ears clandestinely until your mind finally gives in to accept it. A noise all Breakers fear to find rattling around in the bushes, because where Rattle-tails are, their owners are usually not far behind.

“Get down,” Gail whispers, looking around frantically to find a hint of white in the burnt underbrush. “The Ura are somewhere near.”

“How—“

“Rattle-tails. I don’t know how many there are of them, but I’m pretty sure we can’t take all of them, not if we don’t know where they are. So I need you two to go on ahead and find the Cinders, and I’ll follow behind in case they tail you.”

“So Hurus and I are going to be bait?” Eisl says incredulously. “While you stand around and watch us get slaughtered?”

“Unless you want all three of us to die without a fighting chance,” Gail says. “This way if the Ura do attack I’ll be able to pick enough of them off or get them to attack me instead. Just go on and try to deliver this message; the war needs it.” She rests a hand on Hurus’ shoulder and tries to smile. It doesn’t come out as well as she hoped. “I’ll be ten steps behind you, don’t worry.”

As Eisl and Hurus walk on, Gail feels a slight twinge of guilt before knocking an arrow and circling their progress, eyes open for any sign of something that doesn’t belong in this inhospitable region. 

The Breakers’ red for once adds to camouflage, and she quickly finds ten Ura encamped in a clearing. She hesitates to shoot them, as they don’t seem to be following the other Breakers and it’s doubtful a single Dancing Shot can take down all of them. She considers just walking away and forgetting that she ever saw them. But if there’s ten here, there might be others out on patrol with their pets. Why miss an opportunity to eliminate the enemy while they sit around, she rationales, and immediately regrets it. She’s not an honor-seeker, she mutters to herself, and she isn’t one of those foolish novices who die on their first mission firing at everything they see. Err on the side of caution.

But caution doesn’t save her from being spotted.

Three shots later, and she’s running for her life. True enough, those Ura have friends, and ten quickly grew to fifteen. Bullets from repeaters and arrows fly out behind her, some grazing her legs and back, but she doesn’t look back, unless it’s to fire more arrows at her pursuers. Scumbag arrows. Not the most ethical of choices, but with them all she really needs to do is outlast her chasers.

The Ura have petty tricks at their disposal as well, and fire a slew of darts dipped in Swampweed juice. One hit from one of those and she’s down, the world a mix of pretty colors and muffled sounds. She still keeps running, however, and now it’s a battle of time between two poisoned parties. Luckily they give way before she does, and she staggers into the familiar surrounding of brick walls.

The Grady Incinerator.


	3. Cinders

She stares up at the sky, which doesn’t treat her kindly as it spirals in every color Caelondia has to offer and then some. Peckers chatter next to her, their voices distorted and muddled. 

Then she’s no longer surrounded by red brick and the smell of sulfur. Her vision clouds into vague shapes of green, and Gail is back in the Wharf District, not yet clothed in the red of the Breakers. Recruitment day. Mandatory for every civilian of age, hardly any exceptions. A bow in her hand—sturdy, nigh unbreakable. She draws the string back, her arms weak, inexperienced.

A man steps towards her. She can’t see his face, though he wears Bynn’s clothes. “A Breaker’s duty is steeped in tradition,” his voice, inhuman, muffled, coils in her ear. 

_“A Breaker’s duty is to die.”_

She looks at the man, panicked, and sees his original features (did he even have a face?) melt into the pale face of an Ura. She screams and lets loose a flurry of arrows at him, but mid-air they turn into chains. The bow becomes heavy, unbearable, the weight of it pulling her to the ground. 

_“Breakers who break duty must die.”_

Whose is that voice? It sounds familiar, too familiar. “Hurus?” she says, surprised by the sound of her own voice echoing. Such a tiny voice she had when she was young. 

_“Promise breakers must die.”_

“I’m sorry Hurus,” she screams, sobs choking her throat. Words, promises she could not keep, the people she’s lost on missions, the Acobi bracelet she took back from their corpses; they all choke her, catch in her throat like liquor. 

She stumbles to her knees as the bow transforms into chains, binding her wrists and ankles. She lowers her head, and sees out of the corner of her eye a dark red blade. A Graver stands before her; she keeps her head down, too afraid to look up at the masked face of Caelondia’s arm of justice. 

_“Die, Breaker.”_

The blow hits her through her chest, piercing into her heart. She looks up at the Graver, at the mask, at the face behind the mask. Her face.

Then everything fades, everything's undone.

She wakes up, back to the burning air and the soot-covered bricks. Peckers caw near her, flocking in clusters and dispersing at will. Gail rubs her face, which is covered in soot. Well, better dusty than dead, she reckons. Her body is similarly intact, though it takes a bit of searching to find her hat, which was fought over by a crowd of peckers before she dispatched them. They don't stay away for long, though.

More peckers gather around her, and she sends arrows after all of them, but they still keep on coming one after another like a ceaseless wave. Eventually she can’t maintain her distance, and start whacking them with her bow out of frustration. It doesn’t do much.

“They won’t bother you if you stop attacking them.” 

A quick burst from a fire bellows scatters all the demon birds. Gail pants and rests her bow on the ground. She turns to face the Cinder (only they were insane enough to wield fire as sure as steel), who looks to be about five years Gail’s senior, clad in the thick leathers her line of work necessitated, her face covered in soot. “They didn’t give me much of a choice.” 

The Cinder looks at her quizzically. “All that trouble for a hat?”

“Breaking uniform earns you a trip to the Menders,” Gail says. “A lot of things do, when you’re a Breaker. “

“That seems rather excessive.”

Gail shrugs. “It’s no worse than the three days’ leeway. If I’m not back then I’m…” She sees the Cinder’s face change into a grimace. “How long has it been since I came in here?”

“You muttered when you were unconscious,” the Cinder says. Then her face brightens like a wax figure's. “I’m not sure I caught your name.” She fidgets with the handles of the bellows, running over them with the edge of her thumb.

“How long has it been?”

“I’m Cada, by the way.”

“How long has it been, _Cada_?!”

Cada sighs. “Today’s the third day.” 

Gail involuntarily laughs and collapses onto the ground. “Mother, this is just grand. It takes a day to get back to the barracks from the Slinger’s Range, and probably a day from here to the Range. I’m practically dead as it is. They’re going to send a Graver after me and run me over with their sword.”

Cada slowly puts down her bellows and sits on the ground next to her. “You didn’t tell me your name,” she whispers. 

“Gail,” the Breaker shoves her hand into Cada’s face. “You’re probably the last person who’s ever going to talk to me, so hi. I’m Gail.”

“I’d shake your hand but I don’t like to touch people.” 

“Great. Lovely. No one wants to touch a dead woman, thanks.” 

“That’s not what I meant. I didn’t move you because of it, but I didn’t know you had to go back so soon. Look, I can help you find your way back if you want. I know the area pretty well and bellows are better at clearing away the grounds than a bow. If you want…”

Gail plucks at her bowstring and sighs. “Why aren’t you with the other Cinders? Didn’t the message get through that they were needed in battle?” Which reminds her of Hurus and Eisl. If the message got through, then they were alive. Well, at least they’d be able to make it back without worrying too much about the time. Unless the Ura got them first.

“I don’t like to fight,” she says simply. 

“Then why are you helping me?”

“I don’t think this counts as fighting.” Cada gestures towards the Wilds beyond the incinerator with a gloved hand. “We can go now if you want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a very good chapter, sorry. I just got ridiculously busy, so this fic may be very slow in updating.


End file.
